Cheeky Chiringuito

PrawnJust to show that I´m not always as crabbit about mindless mirth as I was in my last post, here are some pics of my favourite, fiesta chiringuito.

La Cueva de Antolín is on Alcalá´s Calle Libreros which eventually becomes the Calle Mayor, the main artery of the city´s historic centre.

 

La Cueva de AntolínWhen I first came across this bar and restaurant fifteen years ago it was doing a superb job of living up to its name, the cave. Large and irregular, scruffy and noisy with the plainest of rancho (grub) it was popular with everybody on a budget, particularly the soldiers from Alcalá´s BriPac (Parachute Brigade) who landed in at lunch time in large, hungry, macho squadrons.

The BriPac left Alcalá, which was perhaps just as well, since the restaurant was later completely refurbished in a manner perhaps too watery for the land and sky-lubbing BriPac.  Elegantly kitted out in yachting style, the Cueva now comes complete with brass portholes, marine lamps and sedate seascapes in oils.

As for me, I like the new Cueva since it´s become the perfect place for a ladylike pitstop in the middle of a downtown shopping trip.  And I´m never nostalgic for its old, rough and ready character because at fiesta time the grubby old cave comes screaming back to life again in the shape of its chiringuito.

Chiringuito Antolín

Set up right outside the bar and with a small scrabble of plastic tables and chairs, it´s not designed for leisurely lingering, thoughtful conversation or fine dining but for blocking the pavement, deafening the Casco Viejo and boosting the takings into the stratosphere – all on three or four basic dishes.

“Come on, stuff your face with seafood and join the party,” is definitely the philosophy!

And since you can´t get past for little concentrations of people with prams,  walking sticks, crutches, animals, bikes, the best thing to do is to think of your tummy and  stop for a drink and a ración.

And really, the seafood aroma and the decibel-defying music make it the perfect place to stop for a very short (but very pleasant) period of time.

So that´s what Malassie and I did these fiestas.  There´s not much variety on the menu but what you get is really tasty: calamares, gambas, mejillones or jamón serrano (squid, prawns, mussels or serrano ham), a basket of bread and a drink, ranging from 8-12 euros.

Everybody was having a ball.  Even the alsatian in the photo above was sharing in the feast with its owners. Our ración de calamares was huge and not only did we leave some uneaten, we skipped lunch too (almost unheard of in our family). Not that we lingered. The chiringuito´s all set up for speed – you order and pay at a little checkout and take the ticket to a waiter.

It was almost like old times.  On the one hand, since we were outside, people puffed furiously on cigarettes but on the other, progressive hand, the counter had lots of little plastic-lined bins for customers to put their prawn-peelings in.

Bin

But what really rounded out the stop at the Cueva for me was a rowdy, bawdy song, Chupa la gamba, blaring from the sound system. (If you don´t believe how loud it is ask my husband who used to work right across the road from it).

Chupa la gambaThis is the absolutely filthy tale of Mari Puri, notorious for sucking prawn heads in an extremely artistic manner.

During the fiestas she goes off with Pepe and Armando for a cocktail of  king prawns in which she provides the almeja, the clam.

Of course, the song´s not really about seafood since the langostino (king prawn) and the clam, symbolise ……. well, I´m sure you´ve guessed it!

So maybe it was just as well we ordered squid.

You can listen to the song, complete with slurping sounds, here.

Primas Sin Riesgo (Risk-free Cousins)

 

One of the great pleasures (and challenges)  of any expat is the Visit From Home.   We ask ourselves if these Scots/Americans/Brits will be able to adapt to the Spanish lifestyle for a couple of weeks or is there any risk they´ll make our life a misery?

Alcalá

The obligatory chat in Alcalá with Don Quixote and Sancho Panza!

I found out the answer to this a couple of weeks ago when my cousins, Monz and Marz for the purposes of this post,  came to Alcalá.  These sisters, with the lovely surname Woods, turned out to be completely risk-free - primas sin riesgo* - as they flowed seamlessly into our lives to the extent that we wished they´d just up and move here!

Of course, these two girls have spent years travelling in Italy, a fellow Latin country, and so the Spanish language and culture didn´t scare them one bit.

(I hope my brother will forgive me for mentioning that when he came a few years ago he brought half a suitcase of British crisps and sweeties – not for me, but because he knew he wouldn´t get his favourite brands here)!

 Around Alcalá

There was no such problem with Monz and Marz who were up for everything! So, in a sensible, leisurely fashion, we saw Alcalá and Madrid and my husband took them to Toledo.  (I stayed home, heart-broken, that day with my adored and dying little foundling cat, Rocky.  When I left him for the last time at the vet – he was only three but had leukemia –  Monz and Marz comforted an inconsolable Mo who got completely pissed on Rueda wine).

Trying on Asturian clogs – madreñes – before the trip

Asturias

Then it was off to Asturias!  En route we stayed overnight  at the Parador at Lerma, near Burgos, and the next day stopped off in León to see the stunning stained-glass windows of the Cathedral.

Woody´s had his specs swiped again!

Once in the Principado de Asturias, my suegra kindly let us use her holiday flat in Gijón, near the beach.

Then we headed inland to Oviedo where my Woods cousins visited the Woody Allen statue in the casco viejo.

He´d had his glasses stolen again, of course, so the ovetenses joke about having to get him contact lenses!

 

Malassie struggles with her Asturian roots at the Cider Museum

 

We also saw the charming town of Villaviciosa, nerve-centre of the cider industry in Spain, and visited the cute and innovative cider museum in the town of Nava.

(I suggest that if you read Spanish, don´t bother with the museum website´s English version since it´s almost as awful as the natural cider itself …..).

One of the highlights in Nava was our visit to my husband´s uncle´s farm, not to mention the huge tins of home-produced morcilla and chorizo and bag of  home-grown fabes (beans) his Aunt Lena gave us so we can make Asturias´ traditional dish, fabada, with the best possible ingredients.

 

(Watch out for our recipe for this and the seafood version, fabes con almejes, when the weather drops from 40 degrees in the shade)!

Then it was the vertical, coastal fishing village of Cudillero and our two weeks of food, fun and family were over.

Home again

Monz and Marz flew out of Asturias´ small airport, Ranón, excellent cook Monz loaded up with saffron at a fifth of its price in the UK, and we drove back to Alcalá.  It had all worked out perfectly – sin riesgo – partly because of my wonderful cousins and partly because of  Spain herself!

Why?

Because everywhere we went there was a party!

 

León was awash with lovely maragat

For example, there was a parade of the traditional maragato costume in León, a Noche de San Juan bonfire on the night of the 24th in Lerma (who lets their kids stay up till one in the morning jumping over hot coals)? as well as a noisy charanga band  in Cudillero and a huge procession with a Spanish colonial theme in Burgos. Particularly wonderful was a concert of Renaissance music – in full period costume – at the Parador.

All of it free!

Half-kidding, my cousins kept saying how well I´d planned the trip for them!

I didn´t.

But Spain did.

So as a holiday destination, España is definitely a prima sin riesgo.

Marz, Mo and Monz at the heart of Spain. Thank you, chicas, for a wonderful time!

 

* The “prima de riesgo” is the degree of security – or in the present crisis, the lack of it – of government bonds.   The term relates to “premium” but sounds like the Spanish word for girl cousin, “prima”.

 

 

Romanians in Spain (1)

 

Romanian flag

Having recently bragged that Alcalá played host to, em, a host of Hollywood actors and directors creating the epic Spartacus, I am delighted to claim bragging rights for my adopted town once more.

Alcalá (drum roll) is the Romanian capital of Spain!  One in ten residents of the town is from Romania.  (I´m not one of them, claro.  I´m not even in anybody´s book of statistics).

The reason why so many Romanians reside in this town is unclear.  While the whole of the Corredor del Henares (towns along the course of the River Henares as well as the railway line) has become popular with all immigrants because of its proximity to Madrid, Alcalá´s greater drawing power for the rumanos is hard to explain.

A biased person would argue that the former Arab fortification of Alqal´a Nahar and Roman city of Complutum is just downright fancier than the functional dormitory towns along the way to the capital.

I´m that biased person. And we have storks, na na na na na!

Flying stork Alcalá

Thorough and profound immigration theory over with, let´s talk shop.  As in the case of any substantial immigrant influx, Romanians must have their grub. Moving to a country with a culinary brilliance bordering on the divine has not dampened their taste for their own cooking.  So Alcalá has several Romanian-owned shops catering to the nostalgia for nosh from this former Communist State (and what a state it was in).

Romanian shop Alcalá Spain

Being British, I tend to think that bread is bread is bread, but these fussy Romanians demand their own pâine. This leads to signs in Spanish panaderías advertising Romanian bread – in Romanian.  Not only this, but one of the big supermarket chains,  Ahorra Más, has a full line of produse romanesti…. and I´m sure they´re not alone.

So what do they eat?  I found out, paradoxically, a few years ago when I went all the way to Bucharest.  I tried mici (pronounced “meetch”), little sausages made of beef, lamb and pork meat and absolutely to die for.  I could´ve saved myself the Easyjet flight since I later discovered that my own butcher prepares this sausagemeat for his Romanian customers, but you live and learn.  And see Bucharest!

Mici also seems to mean “li´l purritat” so here´s a photo of both sausages and soft kitties for your delight and delectation.

Mici sausages

You can nibble on these

 

Kissing kitties

Don´t dare bite these babies!

Along with a Romanian white wine that was a dead ringer for my beloved Rueda, I also had mamaliga which Yukipedia describes as a “porridge made out of yellow maize flour.”  This sounds as awful as its Scottish relative, but it´s actually pleasant…. though not as delicious as Scots Porridge Oats with water, milk and salt!

Another wonderful dish was a cold, aubergine purée.  I loved this, especially since berenjenas are my favourite veggies.

So, to conclude.  The Romanians, well-educated Latins, have enriched Alcalá with their culture, of which I´ll write more soon.

Hindu Happiness Along the Henares!

Madras Masala Restaurant

Madras Masala Restaurant

The Preview of the Review…

Some review you´re going to write, said El Husbandito as we left the Madras Masala after Sunday lunch.  You didn´t look at the prices, get the address or phone number, take any of their cards, pick up a takeaway menu, look into the kitchen or even glance at the bill, never mind pay it. You forgot to photograph any of the food and the photos you took of the outside of the restaurant are rotten.

Men.  Wouldn´t give a gal a break.  After all, this is my first restaurant review and I did the main research which was, of course, to eat the food!

I´d been dying for an Indian meal, even to the point of trying to figure out how to bring one from Madrid for Christmas Dinner.  We thought we might get a takeaway ahead of time and re-heat it on the day but we decided that soggy samosas and less than perky pakora just weren´t worth it.

If only we´d known that the first Indian restaurant in Alcalá was providing takeaway less than a mile away! The Madras Masala has been open for a month and, according to Jacob, one of the three owners, it´s going well.  Married to a Spanish woman, Jacob is from Madras and speaks excellent English and Spanish.

On Saturday I wrote this:

“It´s spotless, quiet, stylish and neutral and exudes quality, with a beautifully written menu. The (for want of a better word) maitre is not only courteous and informative but speaks English!  And our aperitivo of chicken pakora was delicious –  fresh, spicy and fragrant”.

Did the lunch date live up to our expectations?  Read on.

Taj Mahal – wish I had taken my own photos

The Review

We were excited about our Indian repast and arrived all dolled up at 3 p.m. on the dot. (Malassie, unfortunately, could not be threatened persuaded to relinquish her red and black-striped, cut-off mittens and black nail polish).  Our table had been reserved for us among the ten or so that fit in the medium-sized dining area and most of them were occupied by Spanish families.  Some poppadoms awaited us with two little sauces, one yogurt with mint and the other – beware here of some highly technical restaurant review jargon – a kind of smooth, sweet, jammy, chutney.  Thing.

It was all delicious so we couldn´t wait to order.  However, the Anti-Spice Squad was on the premises in the form of Malassie, who wanted chips. Fortunately, Jacob reminded her she could get chips anywhere and suggested she try a very mild chicken tikka masala.  He took her small, huffy expression to be a yes.  I read over the definition of curry in the menu with her – the proper term is masala – and with the low-volume Indian music in the background, we were really starting to enjoy ourselves.

Anyone from Glasgow (in case anybody doesn´t know it yet, I´m a wee Glesga burd) has at least a passing acquaintance with Indian food. The city has some fantastic Indian restaurants, such as the Koh-i-Noor, and so the contents of the extensive menu were familiar to me.  However, rather than pick our favourites, we decided to have a bit of an overview to see how the food performed over a range of dishes.  Hubby decided on the Menú de Degustación (which does NOT translate as Disgusting Menu, but Introductory Menu) which came in at €22.95. I went for the Brunch de Domingo at €25. I´ve never seen brunch on offer in Alcalá so it´s possibly a novel idea for Spaniards, though I fear they might pronounce it broonch.

Once we ´d ordered, I took a better look around. The tables were simply done in beige, cloth-feel paper settings and napkins. The mesón features remaining from the previous restaurant were a little out of place, although some nice, stained-glass panels on the doors and windows hinted at the bejewelled splendour of “normal” Indian resturants. We congratulated ourselves on the no-smoking law in Spain, free of the worry that our comida would be ruined by fugs of cigarette smoke.

The waiter service (just Jacob and one other man, from the Punjab, apparently) was well-paced, calm and efficient and our food soon arrived.  Samosas, pakora and other crispy starters were followed by lamb rogan josh, tandoori chicken, mixed vegetables in a sauce, prawn mughlai korma and the tikka masala.  They were served with plain, boiled basmati rice and peshwari naan bread.  We had gulab jamun and mango lassi for dessert and I accompanied the meal with two rosé wines to hubby´s two beers (and Malassie´s two pineapple juices).

Very quickly, the matter of which dish belonged to which menu became a moot point.  The food was delicious!  To my (inexpert) palate the mix of spices and seasonings in all the dishes was wonderful. The korma sauce was absolutely beautiful; light, creamy and pale yellow in colour.  All the meat was tender and, as for the chicken tikka in its sauce, it was incredibly tasty – what we could get of it, since Malassie fought us off!  Indian food now has one small, Spanish convert!

Not our food

 

As for the desserts, the gulab, little balls of pastry in very sweet syrup, was lovely and the yogurt and mango lassi was thick, fruity and gorgeous. To my mind, these really are desserts … better these than all that Spanish nonsense of offering you a banana for pudding!

 

After Lunch Afterthoughts

After the meal, Jacob and the waiter were keen to hear our opinion. They enquired at every table and patrons seemed to be very happy.  Our bill came to €73.95 – pushed up by the cost of the drinks – but in general the prices are good, though perhaps the brunch is a little steep.  Then again, Spanish restaurants offer Sunday lunch at that price per head too.  There is also a wonderful Menú del Díaavailable for just €9.95.  As seems to be a common practice in Indian restaurants in Spain, each day of the week has a pre-set, different menu, in a sort of “It´s Tuesday, so it must be Lamb Korma Day” approach.  I imagine the American students from the nearby Cardenal Cisneros University College, the staff and customers of the Alcalá Magna Shopping Centre and the police from the new Comisaría just behind it will flock to the Madras Masala during the week.

Room for Improvement

While the restaurant is very good, hubby was disappointed that the food we had was distinctly lacking in “hotness”. As I, unlike him, prefer not to have my face burned off, this wasn´t an issue with me.  It´s quite possible these menus are toned down a little to avoid frightening Spanish diners off but tourists might want to request hotter options. My only criticism is that the samosas seemed a little dry and tended to crumble.

Star Performance

Peshwari naanThe Peshawari naan bread was a real hit with me (and child) since I´d never tried this sweet version of the naan before. It was presented in a basket, cut into pizza-shape slices which I preferred to the usual practice of laying it whole on a huge platter, barely leaving room for anything else on the table. I thought that the combination of the minutely-chopped raisins, crushed pistachios and caster sugar in the buttery naan with the savoury food was out of this world. If you want to have a go at making this bread yourself, click for a recipe here.

Jacob informed us that the goal of the restaurant is to offer quality and this was certainly on our plates during our visit.  We will definitely be going back – in fact by the time you read this, we might just be tucking into another Indian feast!

Madras Masala,

José Luis Pereda, 2,  Alcalá de Henares, Spain.

+34 91 125 78 20

Rolling on Home

Rueda country
So, we´d been through the desert on a horse with no name ….well, all right, it was Castilla-León in a hired Peugeot 207, but the result felt much the same.

I wasn´t helping with the driving to keep the car hire cheaper, which was probably just as well.  The monotonous, straw-coloured extensions of parchedness on empty roads, after the green frondosity of Asturias, might have had me drifting off to sleep at the wheel, despite the air-conditioning.

As a passenger, unrequired even for conversation, after hours on the road, I slept.  This was one dull drive home.

Or so I thought.

Hubby woke me from my crick-necked, squash-faced slumber with the words, “Do you want us to stop off at Rueda?”

Palacio de Bornos

“Wuetha? I dribbled. Where the hell is Wuetha?”

“You know, Rueda.”

And then it came to me.

“Rrrrrrueda? THE Rrrrrrrrrrrrueda? Omigod, Sara, wake up, where´s my sandals, stop the car!

Rueda, my favourite wine. My only wine. My only vice. And here we were, Kubla Khan, pleasure dome, and caverns measureless to man!

Not.

We came off the exit ramp, passing one immense winery (doesn’t winery have a more debauched ring to it than bodega?) on the right. We didn´t stop. There have to be more, many more, I told myself and hubby, since this is the home of Rueda, the home of plenty, the Arcadia of enological choice.

So on we drove – into the one-horse-town of Rueda and I wondered, again, why Spain is so, so, so …. empty! All that was missing was the tumbleweed and the Ennio Morricone soundtrack.

There was some choice in the shape of a few little shops boasting Wine and Ham, Wine and Cheese or Just Wine so we cruised in drive-by shooting mode in the hope of finding something big to kill.

Nope.

We doubled back to the ramp at the town entrance and drove into the Palacio de Bornos winery. It was the whole shebang, with a rustic bar and shop, waiters in cute aprons and a deep, dark cavern leading to the mysteries of wine production at the back.

Palacio de Bornos

But I didn´t bother with that. Who cares? I thought. Grapes, vines, barrels, yeah, I get it. Let´s get to the tasting.

And we did, or should I say, I did. Hubby, you will remember, was driving, so a taste was all he got. I had my glass and most of his too and our daughter wondered how anybody could drink stuff that smelled that awful, and had a fruit juice.

Hubby told the story of a man who was travelling from Northern Spain to Madrid but who stopped in Rueda and got no further. And I´m not surprised. The wine was wonderful, in the way I understand wine to be wonderful. Light, fruity, crisp, green-toned and full, from the verdejo grape and served at the perfect temperature.

In fact, when hubby ordered two glasses of white wine, the waiter asked, not dos Palacio de Bornos, or dos Rueda but dos verdejo? Very cognoscenti.

It might also be because Rueda is a funny name for a place or a wine. It means “wheel” or “rolling” but on this occasion, it fitted well with our drive home. I didn´t roll much on a glass and a half but we bought a huge box for €25 which should keep me well-oiled for quite some time.

I got back in the car and fell asleep again, hubby at the wheel. It felt really good not to be driving.

Click here for NYT on Rueda wine